


Valentine's Day

by Gem_Gem, KittieHill



Series: Kittie And Gem Stories [7]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Attempt at humour, Awkward Conversations, Awkward First Times, Awkward Flirting, Awkward Romance, Awkward Sexual Situations, Chapter One Updated!, Fluff and Smut, Kissing, Love Bites, M/M, Neck Kissing, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rough Kissing, Smut, Valentine's Day, Valentine's Day Fluff, WIP, just a lot of awkward
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-18
Updated: 2016-03-24
Packaged: 2018-05-21 09:59:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6047416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gem_Gem/pseuds/Gem_Gem, https://archiveofourown.org/users/KittieHill/pseuds/KittieHill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John gives Sherlock a friendly Valentine's gift as a joke.<br/>Sherlock actually quite likes it.<br/>Smut ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Firstly, this is STILL not finished and I'm sorry. Writer's block is a pain in my bum.  
> I had to post something though, because it was driving me mad that I was writing a Valentine's story, yet I couldn't get it up on the day and it's still not ready. I wanted to get it out there to show you lovely people before the end of February!
> 
> This is meant to be a collaboration with the lovely KittieHill.  
> I was meant to write one chapter and she would then write the other, and we'd see what we'd get. However, she's been waiting on my chapter since before Valentine's Day. I feel dreadful, for keeping her waiting and you lovelies waiting, so I'm posting a bit of the story to get feedback and to hopefully get more inspired. 
> 
>  
> 
> Please note that what I am showing is just my work at the moment. KittieHill will be posting hers once I finally finish mine.
> 
>  
> 
> I will also be updating it. So my chapter will be longer. So look out for updates!  
> KittieHill's work should be chapter two.
> 
> *I hope Kittie doesn't mind that I've done this but I need to get something out before I go insane*
> 
> * Any mistakes are mine.
> 
> UPDATE: 19/02/16  
> I've finished the chapter. Leaving it there. Otherwise it might take me longer. I hope you all like it.  
> Now to be surprised by chapter two, which will be written by KittieHill

John grinned and strolled over to where Sherlock was checking his emails and website, and plopped down a glass jar beside Sherlock’s left wrist, “Happy Valentine’s day,” he murmured with a playful expression and a lift of his eyebrows. John watched as Sherlock slowly turned to look and then pick up the jar, rolling it around in his hands. “I was tempted, albeit only a little tempted mind you, to go see Molly for a real one but…we have enough human remains in this flat. I won’t add to the constant increasing number of them.”

Inside the jar was a detailed, brightly coloured, 2D drawn diagram of a heart, the perfect width and height of an actual heart, and it was suspended in the middle by a thin string, which was attached to the lid of the jar. On one side of the drawing were the inner workings of the heart; whilst on the opposite side was the outer, and Sherlock stared at it blankly for several long and tense moments as it twirled gently, his eyes only lifting to John after a full minute had passed. He blinked at John once, and then again in a series of quick flurries of his lashes, and lifted the jar in what looked like question, his fingers cradling the curved bottom. 

“What?” John asked rolling his eyes and snatching the jar back with a nervous clearing of his throat. “I thought it would be…funny or something. I don’t know. Look, it’s just a sort of…gag gift, in a way—The heart is damaged, look. Takotsubo cardiomyopathy, or as it’s most commonly known, broken-heart syndrome. – See? The muscular portion of the heart is weak and there is a ventricular rupture.”

Sherlock leaned forward at John’s prompting and eyed the diagram as it swirled and swayed from its string inside, “Ah. Yes – Did you draw it?”

“Yeah,” John nodded and fiddled with the jar as he inspected the illustration with a self-conscious furrow of his brow, “I know I’m no artist, but it’s all right for a diagram, isn’t it? I had to draw a lot of these sorts of things when I was at school and college, and even Uni. Diagrams of the heart and the lungs and all that—You know, takotsubo cardiomyopathy is a fascinating thing because it’s not completely and entirely understood. It’s rare and affects far more women than men, most of the women being menopausal, and it’s not that likely that once someone has experienced the syndrome, that they’ll do so again.”

“Hm.”

“It’s actually been misdiagnosed as a heart attack on my occasions, because the symptoms and test results are similar, the only difference is that there is no evidence of blocked heart arteries. What happens though, from what I understand, is there is a bulging out of the left ventricular apex with a hyper contractile base of the left ventricle, and it’s that which gave the syndrome it’s name, “tako tsubo,” which is Japanese I think? – It has other names though; transient apical ballooning syndrome, stress-induced cardiomyopathy, Gebrochenes-Herz-Syndrom, and other such… terms,” John went on before he saw Sherlock’s amused face and teetered off with embarrassment, “yes, well, I’m sure you don’t need me to tell you all that. Sorry. I was, um, a bit of a geek when I was studying for my medical degree and a lot of things concerning the heart were very fascinating to me...”

Sherlock stood from his chair and nodded, “Yes. Always the romantic.”

“…Not entirely sure if reading up on heart problems is romantic but…sure.” John mumbled and gave the jar back to Sherlock when he gestured for it, lifting his chin with half a smile as Sherlock peered in at the heart diagram and then inspected the jar with a knowing quirk of his mouth. “Yes it’s a jam jar – Shut up.”

“I like it.” Sherlock turned to put the jar down on the table, hiding his face with a tilt of his head and tapping the lid with an elegant wriggle of his fingers, “I’m going to give you a blowjob now. As a thank you.”

John stared in stunned silence and adjusted his stance, his arms by his sides, and frowned deeply in bemusement, “…I’m sorry, what?”

“I haven’t got you anything, but I’m pretty sure I could get you off?” Sherlock said with a loose shrug, and took a step toward John with a small smile and an arch of one eyebrow, rocking on his heels.

“Sherlock…you…you think that the right course of action after a friend gives you a jokey sort of gift, is to offer a blowjob?” John asked as calmly as he could, gesturing to Sherlock with one hand as an uneasy spike of anticipation shot up his spine. “Are you serious?”

Sherlock pondered the question for a second and then peeked at John in interest, taking another step closer, “…Yes?”

“No.”

Sherlock huffed with a petulant frown and motioned back to the jar, “But it was so…well thought out. I really like it. Joke gift or not, I’m very happy with it—Would you like to fuck me instead?”

The words were like a slap in the face and John staggered back a few shaky steps, unsure if he’d ever heard Sherlock utter such crude words before, and pointed at him with a humourless laugh, “Do you hear what you’re saying?”

“Yes.” Sherlock answered looking nonplussed and then immeasurably confused as to John’s reactions when John turned around and walked off. Sherlock trailed after him as John moved to back up into the living room, pacing in front of the fireplace a little. “John—”

“That gift wasn’t me asking for anything from you. It wasn’t me forcing you to…to…repay me in some way, Sherlock! – You really think this is okay to do? To say even? To your friend and flatmate?”

Sherlock sighed and with one hand on his hip he indicated to John with a small and quick patronising smile, “…From the look on your face and your actions, I’m assuming it isn’t—but I don’t have anything to give you. Anything else, rather.”

John threw his hands up, utterly bewildered by Sherlock’s statement, “I just told you, you don’t have to give me anything you idiot!”

Pressing his lips together tightly with a crease between his brows, Sherlock looked down and away, seeming lost with the series of events. He wandered back to give John more space, his attention flicking from the jar on the kitchen table, to John, and then down to his bare feet in a constant flitting circle, and John shifted awkwardly and stared at Sherlock, watching his every move. Slowly, with an unsteady but determined sigh, John closed the distance between them to stand a few inches from Sherlock and cumbersomely patted his arm as Sherlock straightened up and looked at John with blanked features. He seemed tense and uneasy even when there were no outward signs to show it, and John swallowed with a sigh through his nose.

“…--You’d really let me fuck you?” John whispered to break the sudden and thick and uncomfortable reticence. “You think that’s good? To…to offer that? I give you a rubbish little drawing in a jar, and you turn around and offer me your body?”

Sherlock retained their eye contact, “Yes.”

“Why?”

“Why not?” Sherlock retorted, and the tone in which he said it wasn’t sharp, but truthfully questioning.

John inhaled deeply and felt his gut clench, “Have you…done this before? Who told you this was okay, Sherlock? – And who says I’ll…even take you up on the offer? I mean, Jesus Christ, you’re my friend! And I’m not—you know I don’t do that.”

Sherlock frowned at him and glanced at the jar once more briefly; still apparently thrown, “I know that,” he murmured and then shrugged insecurely, folding his hands behind his back. “But I want to give you something, and I only have myself to give.”

“Sherlock,” John sighed, rubbing his face and then the back of his neck, looking over his brow at him, “you don’t have to give me anything, and certainly not…what you are offering.”

“But I want to,” Sherlock told him and lifted both of his eyebrows for emphasis, tilting his head and twisting his mouth into such a suggestive smile that John paused for a second or two to stare at it.

“Okay…” John heard himself mutter under his breath, “Let’s do… that then.”

Sherlock’s smile altered but he nodded and uneasily shifted, looking around the room as if he didn’t know what to do or go once he’d gotten what he wanted, “…All right.”

“Oh God. Wait—You’ve never done anything like that before, have you? Have you done anything sexual at all?” John asked, suddenly concerned as he noticed Sherlock’s flitting gaze. “You have that look. That look you get when you don’t know what you’re doing but you’re going to pretend like you do anyway.”

“What? No I don’t. I don’t have “looks” and I’m definitely not putting on some sort of “look” now,” Sherlock told him, still not moving from his place and glancing around quickly.

John gestured to Sherlock’s face, “Yes you are! You definitely bloody are doing it now. It’s literally happening right in front of me—Have you done anything sexual with another person before, Sherlock? Answer the question.”

“Possibly.” Sherlock motioned vaguely with both his hands and looked up and to the side as he canted his hips, a little self-conscious at John’s prying looks. “What?”

John shook his head with wide eyes, “You don’t remember?”

“Irrelevant data.” 

“Jesus Christ—Okay. No. Forget it. I don’t even know why I agreed. I’m not…I don’t…I’ve never!” John spluttered and turned around to wander over to his chair, leaning heavily on it and dropping his head between his shoulders. “Why did I even say yes?—I’ve lost it. I’ve lost the plot. I must have…”

Sherlock strolled after him and nodded to John’s laptop sitting off to the side, “I’m sure I could just research up on it all. Get myself reacquainted with everything. Won’t take me long.”

Lifting his head a little, John erupted into laughter, “Oh good God…the things you say.”

“It’ll take me ten to twenty minutes, at least.”

John waved a hand at him and shook his head, watching as Sherlock moved over to pick the laptop up, “No. Forget it, Sherlock—Sherlock! Forget it. Let’s just…not do this.”

“I don’t mind doing a little bit of research,” Sherlock rumbled as he started the laptop up and typed in John’s password without the barest hint of hesitation. “Most will probably be common sense, anyway – Go slow and lube up, and all that.”

John couldn’t stop the snicker that escaped him at Sherlock’s casual manner and awkward words, “No Sherlock.”

Sherlock took off toward his bedroom with a flourish, brushing by John as he did so, “It’s not like I haven’t thought about it before. I have. Many times. So I have planned a little in advance, but not enough, as I didn’t actually think it would happen—”

“…What?”

“—And obviously you’ve thought about it, otherwise you wouldn’t have accepted in the first place, nor made such a fuss without actually being fussed.” Sherlock shot John a quick and pompous smile, stopping off at the bathroom with the laptop under his arm.

John jogged over to stop the shutting of the door with his hand, “Whoa. Wait a second…I have no idea why I said yes, all right? It was a…slip…kind of—Listen, let’s say I – we – did what you’re saying we do. I’d basically be taking advantage of you. You’re offering yourself up like you have to, just because I gave you a gift. – What even brought this on? I give you Christmas gifts and birthday presents, and you don’t go like this?”

“How would you be taking advantage of me?” Sherlock scoffed, shooing him back. “Unless you want to watch me use the toilet, please leave.”

John glared half-heartedly, “You don’t know what you’re saying, what you’re asking, what you’re even doing. And all for a heart in a jar. A fake heart. A silly little…joke…thing in a cleaned out jam jar!”

“It’s more than that.” Sherlock sighed and leaned up against the doorframe, tilting his head, “John. I do know what I’m saying. You’re not taking advantage of me. You could never do that.”

“It would…would…make things awkward between us!” John said instead of the mixture of other things stirring around in his head. 

“Doubtful.”

“Sherlock, we would be sleeping with each other. This could ruin our friendship – I’ve been through it before. I was friends with this girl and…and we thought it a grand ol’ idea to become, you know, “sex friends.” At first it was…it was great, but it didn’t stay that way,” John told him with a grimace, pressing his hand harder against the door when Sherlock tried to shut it again. “I don’t want to ruin this—I don’t do this, either. I don’t sleep with men! I’ve never done anything like…like that – I don’t know why you brought it up and offered, and I really don’t know why I said yes when I have no desire or wish to…to do that to you.”

“We’re different,” Sherlock expressed with an annoyed expression. “You and that…girl…were young, yes? In your teens, at least. You didn’t know what you both wanted. Your hormones were all over the place. It was unplanned and marginally unwanted. You hadn’t been living with her or even really knew her well enough to even have a decent friendship with her, let alone a good romantic relationship. How long did you know her for before you both stupidly decided to do that? Barely a year? A few months? I’m thinking the latter, or at least four months—”

“How do you know that?” John frowned in awe and then irritation, frowning deeply and gesturing between them. “Fine. Mr Know-It-All, then explain to me why this would be okay for us to do? Why you even brought it up as a bloody option in the first place? What made you think that I wanted something from you, especially something so…intimate?”

Sherlock stared at him for a long time in silence, and then his expression changed and he focused on the wood of the door instead, “…Did you know that there are male adult performers who are straight but are involved in gay porn? Fascinating, isn’t it? How a straight man can have no prejudice or problem with having sex with another man? That he can be open to sexual experiences even though he prefers something else? Most of the men are married too.”

“Why—How do you know that, and why are you telling me that?” John asked. “I’m not a pornstar, Sherlock! They do it for money. It’s a job to them, that’s why they don’t care, because it provides for them. It’s just a…another day in the office for them. There’s no emotion or…or feelings involved or connected to what they do. It’s professional.”

Sherlock pursed his lips with an incline of his head, conceding to John faintly, “Just give me a few moments to get ready.”

“Sherlock, this really isn’t right,” John sighed, rubbing his forehead and then his temples as Sherlock tried to shut the door again. “Sherlock, listen to me…”

“I’ll call for you when I’m done.”

“Sherlock…”

Sherlock gave him a forced cocky smirk and arched one eyebrow, “This is a once in a lifetime offer.”

Glaring, John fought with the door again, “Sherlock.”

“Come to me when I call or don’t,” Sherlock suddenly snapped, and for a split second looked so vulnerable and lost and upset, that John stepped back and let him finally shut the door.

**

When Sherlock did call for him, John was half hard in his jeans, and he glanced down at his bulged crotch, uncomfortable and nervous and completely and utterly confused, as he slowly got up from his chair with both hands braced tight on the armrests. John took a minute to stare at his own reflection in the mirror above the fireplace, and then strolled toward the closed door of Sherlock’s bedroom with a nervous flexing of his fingers. He knocked before he entered and then closed the door behind him, leaning against it when he looked over at where Sherlock was standing beside the bed, wrapped in his dressing gown and flushed.

“Hello.” Sherlock smiled, looking relieved and then jittery with anxious excitement.

John cleared his throat, “Hi—Listen, I…”

“How do you want me?” Sherlock asked and turned to review the bed, tilting his head and then bending to smooth the corner of the covers idly, keeping his head down and his gaze averted.

John watched him, suddenly paying special attention to the curve of Sherlock’s backside under the gown, “…How do I…?”

“On my back or my front?” Sherlock sniffed, ruffing the curls at his nape with one hand, still inspecting the bed with absentminded expression.

“I…I don’t know—Should we just...you know, talk about what the hell we’re doing first?” John asked, swallowing thickly as Sherlock shifted around to face the side of the bed, his back to John.

“I’m going to go on my front I think.”

John sighed and opened his mouth to reply, when he noticed a bottle of lubricant on Sherlock’s bedside table, “You have lube?” He asked, startled.

Sherlock shot him an incredulous look, “Yes, of course – Is that so surprising?”

“Well…yeah, actually. I mean, not the fact that you have lube, but that you have well-known lube – And not like, medical lube. Which, in all honesty, I thought you’d most likely use—Not that I ever thought about the reason you’d use lube or anything like that.” John muttered and wandered over to look at the label for something to do to, keeping his eyes off Sherlock. “Good quality too. That’s, um, that’s good.”

“I have medical lubricant also – Would you prefer to use that?” Sherlock asked as he fiddled with the sash of his dressing gown and strolled to John’s side, smelling of cologne and natural musk, radiating heat.

John glanced at him quickly and was caught by Sherlock’s intense gaze for a while, “…No. No, this is…fine – Wait, I don’t see condoms. No condoms?—Oh. No. Here they are. And they’re mine. Of course they’re mine.” He muttered as he rifled through them. 

“I find it fascinating that you can tell that they’re yours, but yes, of course they are,” Sherlock said and gestured to them with one hand, adjusting his weight, “Why would I have condoms?”

John blinked at him, “…Are you taking the piss?”

“No.” Sherlock shrugged and gave John a meaningful look, smiling tightly.

“Oh. Right. You don’t…you haven’t—Oh God…Sherlock, are you sure about this?”

Sherlock clenched his eyes shut exasperatingly, “I wouldn’t have offered if I wasn’t sure – I don’t do things I don’t want to do, John.”

“So…you want this?—Actually, you answered that already really, you said that you’ve thought about it… Was it this particular thing that you’ve thought about? And, you know, was it with me or…?” John stammered, lost for words and nervously scratching his cheek. “I just…this is a lot to take in. Yesterday we were…well, normal, I suppose. Today is just… different. We aren’t just casually strolling over the line of our friendship here, we’re taking a bloody great leap over it.”

Sherlock nodded but looked at him levelly, “Are we doing this or not?”

“…Yeah,” John whispered, looking down and away when Sherlock stared at him and then moved back to the bed. He regarded Sherlock’s body from the corner of his eyes as Sherlock faced the side of the bed again, shrugged off his dressing gown, and then leaned over the mattress on his elbows, stretching out across the duvet submissively. “Have you…already…um…prepared—?”

“Yes,” Sherlock interrupted, his head bent between his sloping shoulders. “But…you can make doubly sure, if you like.”

John moved over to touch Sherlock’s pale, lower back, and stroked there comfortingly, “All right,” he mumbled, trying to act clinical but unable to stop noticing how much his erection was pushing at the seam of his jeans. John glared down at it; feeling utterly conflicted about everything, and pushed Sherlock’s buttocks apart slowly. “Stay still for me.” 

Sherlock was silent and motionless as John checked him over, the skin of his backside slick and open and pink, and John touched him there gently before stepping back and looking at the entirety of Sherlock’s bent over and waiting body. He couldn’t believe that he was there, looking at Sherlock in such a state, in such a position, and wondered, as his penis twitched, if he’d always wanted it but never knew about it. Opening the lubricant bottle, John applied some to his hands and warmed it between his fingers, pressing in between Sherlock’s buttocks again and inhaling when his fingertips easily slid into Sherlock’s body so he could carefully feel around. Sherlock shifted his hips a little but mostly remained still, breathing steadily and picking at the duvet with tense and agitated fingers. John cleared his throat, petting Sherlock’s thigh when he pulled back.

“Um, okay, good. You’re…um, yeah, you’re good,” John said awkwardly.

“Good,” Sherlock replied, glancing over one shoulder at him and then lifting his eyebrows pointedly. “So…?”

“So, um, yeah,” John stammered, trailing off into nothing as he wiped his fingers on his jeans and fiddled with the button to them, unsure and shaking. “Listen, um, I…I don’t know if…”

Sherlock looked away and sighed loudly, “Yes you do.”

“…Right.” John looked up the dip of Sherlock’s spine and then slowly began undressing with his head down, leaving his underwear on until the last moment. He dithered, shifting self-consciously, and then reached for a condom packet before pulling his erection free, and stepping out of his pants. “If it hurts at all, don’t keep it to yourself, all right? You…you need to tell me. And I’ll stop.”

“Fine,” Sherlock agreed and leaned back into John’s guiding hands after John had rolled on a condom and coated himself generously with lubricant, applying more to Sherlock with his fingers with slight hesitation. 

As John slowly pressed in Sherlock lifted his head and adjusted his arms, pushing up on his elbows a little with a soft and short grunt in the back of his throat, his shoulder blades shifting whilst he moved to idly grip the edge of the bed. John stroked a soothing hand up his back to cup Sherlock’s hot and flushed nape, and let out a shuddering breath, shifting forward with small rolls of his hips and filling Sherlock with an unhurried glide and a slick noise of slickness; eyes fixated on the sight of his cock disappearing, inch by inch, between Sherlock’s plump, pale buttocks and within his constricting body. The act of penetration was something John had done many times before, yet never had it been with a man until that moment, and the fact that it was with not just any man but with Sherlock, made it all the more intense.

“You…all right?” John asked once he was fully sheathed in Sherlock’s fluttering heat, trying to compose himself and allow time for Sherlock to become accustomed to the unfamiliar sensation at the same time. “…Sherlock? Sherlock, are you okay? Tell me.”

“M’fine,” Sherlock snapped curtly but lowly, and glanced over his shoulder to John again with a flushed face and neck. His eyes were dark and slightly glazed with obvious arousal, and John peered into them for a long moment, disconcerted and instantly more aroused himself. “What? Don’t you… like it?”

John lifted his eyebrows high in confusion and took Sherlock’s hips in his hands, suddenly taken by the way Sherlock’s pale skin and round backside looked under his hands and against his pelvis, “…Sorry?”

“You’re not doing anything – Do you not like it?” He asked and frowned, moving up onto his hands, only to rock forward with John’s unexpected thrust, gripping the edge of the bed again. Sherlock let out a quivering breath and blinked widely, moving against the bed as John started up a slow and gentle rhythm, John’s rough hands cupping the sharp, smooth curves of Sherlock’s hipbones. 

“Okay?” John asked as he rolled his hips into the next thrust, leaning his head back in pleasure and holding back a moan. “Sherlock, is this okay?”

“Yes,” Sherlock whispered. “Yes. Be quiet.”

Glaring half-heartedly, John bucked sharply in annoyance, “Git,” he muttered. 

“Mm! – Stop pestering me—”

“I’m not pestering you,” John argued with a frown and adjusted his stance, rocking a little more into Sherlock as he spoke, half listening to the sounds he made as he slid in and out. “I need to know if I hurt you, Sherlock. – I thought you did some bloody “research?””

Sherlock swayed back, trying to match John’s changing rhythm and panted slightly, “I did.”

“Then you know that I—Why am I even having this conversation with you like this?” John threw his arms up and stood still. “I can’t believe I’m doing this. That we’re doing this. God, Sherlock, this is…this is just…”

“If you hurt me, I’ll kick you, how about that?” Sherlock said from where he was hanging his head, his hands running over the bed and then up into his hair. “Just…don’t stop. It stings, and it’s odd, but I’m not in pain. All right?”

John nodded and then stroked up and down Sherlock’s bowed back, “Yeah. Yeah. Good. All right,” he replied, circling a freckle on Sherlock’s skin with a twisting grin. “That’s just what I love to hear when I’m sleeping with someone. “It stings and it’s odd, but carry on anyway.””

Sherlock laughed, squeezing around John in the process, “Going by how the women you sleep with walk afterwards, I’m positive you’ve heard much of the same thing actually.”

“Yeah, maybe,” John giggled proudly, shifting to rock against him again, pushing his fingers up and down Sherlock’s spine, twisting the small curls at his nape. He felt immediately and suddenly more at ease and assured as they spoke, an instinctiveness overtaking him that pushed the embarrassment and panic from before out of his mind. “Had no complaints though.”

“I know that,” Sherlock huffed, peering over his shoulder at John with a raised brow, “I hear all the praises you’re given through the ceiling. Vulgar and shrill and annoying.”

John flashed Sherlock a wider and cockier grin, “You’ll be singing the same praises soon enough.”

Sherlock flushed but frowned, “Will I indeed?” 

“Definitely. And you’ll be more vulgar and more shrill and certainly more annoying,” John said jokingly, stroking a hand through the hair at the back of Sherlock’s head, becoming mesmerised by how the dark strands coiled and bounced around his fingers. “God I love your hair…it’s so thick and smooth—How can you have so much hair on your head but hardly anything everywhere else? You are one of the most hairless men I’ve ever seen – Do you shave it off or something?”

“I’m not hairless. I have hair,” Sherlock disputed, rolling his head into John’s playfully tugging, evidently relishing the treatment. 

“You have the smallest amount on your chest, it’s hardly anything at all—And although you have ridiculously adorable curly hairs on your arms and legs, it’s barely there,” John told him, rotating his hips into the next few thrusts, bounding Sherlock’s backside against him. “You don’t even have much on your…you know, your crotch, and you definitely don’t have much at all between your—”

Sherlock made a noise in his throat and glared weakly, “Are you bullying me?”

“No,” John laughed, ducking his head to hide his amusement.

“It sounds like your bullying me – Not man enough for you, am I?” Sherlock asked with an arched eyebrow, knocking one of his legs against John’s so that their leg hair mixed. “You have hair enough for the both of us—”

John sternly tapped Sherlock’s backside, distracted by the pert jiggle for a second, “I’m not that hairy, you bastard,” he said, thrusting a little quicker and then smirking slowly and mischievously when an impish idea formed. John was an experienced and skilful lover, and although it was a male body under his hands, John was pretty certain it wouldn’t change a thing about his aptitude.

“I think people call men like you “bears” – See, I did do my research—Ah!” Sherlock said with a high and loud exclamation as John shifted his hips just so, causing Sherlock’s back muscles to bunch.

“Sorry, what was that?” John asked nonchalantly.

Sherlock shivered and took a few deep breaths before he spoke, “That wasn’t fair.”

“Hm. Well, I gotta get those praises somehow.” John licked his lips and bucked hard, pushing Sherlock into and across the bed, enjoying the way Sherlock clenched down around him in response and trembled. “If I remember correctly, I’m pretty sure I made a few of my girlfriends scream in pleasure as well as moan…”

“Are you sure that was pleasurable screaming?” Sherlock retorted sassily, inhaling with a sudden gush of breath when John bucked into him again, and then again, forcing Sherlock’s eyes closed.

“Yeah,” John breathed, feeling something bloom hot within him at the sight of Sherlock’s strained throat and gaping mouth, “I’m pretty sure.”

John kept up the firm and steady rhythm, rubbing Sherlock’s waist and hips when Sherlock tried to push back into him with a hitching breath. They swayed quietly for a few minutes, with only the soft sound of skin on skin, their quivering breaths, and the slick slide of lube filling the room. It was obvious that Sherlock was trying to hold back noises just as much as John was, because Sherlock’s neck was a deep red, the tendons in it standing on end; and whenever John would angle his next thrust expertly Sherlock would freeze and hold his breath. It was almost a building challenge between them, one that John was adamant to win, and he exhaled through his nose roughly as he pushed deep and rotated his hips, grinding the shaft of his erection into Sherlock until Sherlock gripped the bed with white knuckles.

At Sherlock’s sudden and seemingly unstoppable groan, John leaned down over him to fit his mouth near his ear, “Do you like that, Sherlock?” he whispered, angling to hit the same spot again and then reaching to cup Sherlock’s jaw with his left hand, turning Sherlock’s face up to stretch and arch his neck. Each time John thrust and rocked forward, Sherlock groaned again, and it only spurred John on more, making the growing flare of desire in his gut get bigger and more intense. “Tell me.”

“Yes,” Sherlock replied in a rough and winded breath, reaching up to touch John’s arm with fluttering fingers, “Yes, I like it. I…like…I like it, John.”

Smearing his mouth down Sherlock’s throat, John finally moaned and placed a sudden kiss to the thundering pulse under his lips, before opening his jaw and sucking up the skin hard enough to bruise, biting down a little when Sherlock cried out excitedly and pushed his backside up against John’s pelvis. Lifting his head away, John grabbed Sherlock around the waist and urged him up onto the bed properly, bending and arranging Sherlock’s legs on the mattress as he followed up to kneel behind him, thrusting down against Sherlock’s arched up hips. Sherlock keened happily at the change of pace and position, and reached under his body to start stroking himself, grinning wonkily when John wrestled his arm out and pinned it the bed.

“John—”

“Nope,” John huffed and leaned down to take Sherlock’s ear between his teeth, grinding up into Sherlock as he did so. “Not yet.”

Sherlock hummed brokenly in yearning, “Bite me again then.”

John pushed Sherlock’s head and shoulders down against the bed, shuffling and lifting Sherlock’s hips a bit higher, gyrating into him lustfully, “Yeah? You like the biting?”

“Obviously,” Sherlock moaned, keeping his hands busy by gripping and mussing the bed covers.

“I won’t do it then,” John laughed and kept a hand on the middle of Sherlock’s back, suddenly thrusting into him harder and quicker than before, aiming for Sherlock’s prostate again. “I’ll do this though…”

Sherlock tensed up and then bucked, scrabbling at the bed and gasping loudly, “Oh…” 

“Yeah,” John smirked, nodding when Sherlock whined jerkily and reached back to grip John’s thigh, “Yeah…feels good?”

Panting, Sherlock screwed his eyes shut and nodded briskly, “Yes…yes—Oh God, John, fuck…fuck yes…yes…” he babbled, trembling all over and squirming to push his hands underneath himself once more with a deep moan. 

“No, no,” John said, strict and breathless, and yanked Sherlock’s arms back, folding them up against Sherlock’s back and pinning them there with one hand. “What did I say? Not yet.”

Sherlock whinged incoherently and then began wildly pushing back into John, grunting noisier and noisier with a ruddy face. He didn’t fight the hold John had on his arms but he writhed until John gave in to his obvious pleading and thrust into him hard and deep in quick succession, making Sherlock rumble in appreciation. Taking his hand away from Sherlock’s folded arms, John leaned on Sherlock’s shoulders to stabilise his posture, and moaned lowly as he drove into and against Sherlock eagerly, watching the ripple of Sherlock’s backside and the clenching of his muscles as John picked up speed and swayed up into him. 

“Good boy,” John chuckled when Sherlock kept his arms folded at his back submissively, and then smiled when Sherlock choked on a hitching giggle. 

**

After half a dozen rapid thrusts, John slowed down and then pulled out to rub his darkly flushed erection up the crease of Sherlock’s backside and across his lower back, smearing lubricant in his wake, and then later dipping the end of his penis in and out of Sherlock promiscuously, enjoying the sensation of Sherlock wantonly squeezing down each and every time. When John eased fully back in once more, they both sighed in satisfaction instantaneously and rocked together, picking up the same deep thrusting speed as before and groaning. Leaning over, John nosed at Sherlock’s throat, peppering it with bruising kisses and then locked eyes with him, staring at Sherlock as he moved until he dragged his teeth up the edge of Sherlock’s tensing jaw to nip at his ear. The scent of Sherlock’s sweat was familiar and intoxicating, filling John’s senses and compelling him on just as much as Sherlock’s deep, reverberating vocalisations. 

John pulled out again unexpectedly, “Turn over.”

“What?” Sherlock panted with a slur, inhaling shakily when he was then manhandled onto his back and dragged close to John’s body, his legs bent towards his chest as John rubbed his condom covered erection up the spread cleft of Sherlock’s arse. Suddenly coy, Sherlock reached down to cover his own engorged and excessively slicked penis, but John swatted him away and then placed Sherlock’s hands above his head, reapplying more lubricant and pushing back into Sherlock’s open and awaiting body at a different angle.

“That’s better,” John murmured huskily in a moan, tilting over and widening his kneeling stance on the bed as he slowly rolled his hips, thrusting into Sherlock with a twitch of a grin, watching Sherlock’s disorganised expression crumple in delight. John pushed his fingers up into Sherlock’s hair, brushing it back from his forehead and temples to expose more of his face, waited for Sherlock to open his eyes a bit more, and then tipped his hips and rubbed the end of his cock along Sherlock’s prostate, biting down on his own bottom lip with a hum of pleasure when Sherlock gasped and squirmed in reaction. 

A dribble of pearly pre-ejaculate seeped from the rosy head of Sherlock’s erection when John did it again, and Sherlock whimpered, “I’m now lying in…the wet spot…you know.”

“Your wet spot,” John replied with a smirk, but reached under Sherlock to haul the covers roughly and strongly aside with a grunt. “There. Better?”

“Much,” Sherlock grinned and shimmied around before reaching for John, timidly at first, and then with more confidence when John nodded. Sherlock’s hands swept up John’s arms and down his back, tucking around his hips and then slowly crawling down to cup and press at John’s buttocks, tugging him forward and squeezing.

John arched his eyebrow with a soft snort and beamed at Sherlock when Sherlock glanced up at him with a mischievous wrinkle of his nose, “Very bold of you, Mr Holmes,” John teased.

“Well, I’m a very bold individual, Dr. Watson,” Sherlock rumbled, playing along and bending his legs up into a more comfortable position.

“Seeing as you came on to me in the way you did, yes, yes you are,” John laughed.

Sherlock rolled his eyes and smiled, “Yes. Grabbing your bottom is hardly bold when you consider I basically bent over for you.”

John hid his mouth against Sherlock’s raised knee for a moment, high on the attractiveness of Sherlock’s face and eager body laid out under him, “God, how can hearing you say the word “bottom” be so outrageously funny?”

“I don’t know,” Sherlock shrugged and chuckled, intentionally clenching down. “Probably because you’re in my bum as we speak.”

“And what a very nice bum it is too,” John giggled deliriously content and surprised at how natural and easy it all was.

John undulated and swayed into and against Sherlock’s body, enjoying having Sherlock’s large hands clutching and pressing eagerly at his backside as he moved, and then bent down to instinctively press a kiss to Sherlock’s panting mouth. Everything stopped at the unexpected contact and they blinked and regarded one another, both of them seeming to hold their breaths, until Sherlock tilted his head and leaned up to kiss him back, closing his eyes with a breathless moan when John surged against him to continue his passionate thrusting. The kissing was messy and a bit frantic, and John bit down on Sherlock’s bottom lip as he pulled away; then dipped back in to kiss him again, cupping the back of Sherlock’s head to better control it, groaning through his nose when Sherlock scratched up his back.

“Fuck, Sherlock,” John growled, tilting Sherlock’s head to lick a hot line up his throat and mark the underside of his jaw.

“Yes,” Sherlock hissed in pleasure, clenching his eyes shut and bouncing with a tensing of muscles as John built up speed, “Yes. Fuck me.”

John moaned and hauled Sherlock’s waist up off the bed to rut into him in a series of strong and deep snaps of his hips, “Yeah,” he muttered in a huff of breath, watching Sherlock’s brow furrow in pleasure, and then pulling all the way out just to rub against Sherlock’s perineum and push all the way back inside him again. “Do you like that?”

Sherlock nodded with a barely stifled whimper, “Yes…yes—I want to touch you there.”

“Where?” John whispered as he ducked down to kiss him once more, humming with enthusiasm when Sherlock instantly kissed him back, lifted his head and opened his mouth to take more of John’s tongue. Taking one of Sherlock’s hands, John slipped it between them and pushed Sherlock’s fingers where John was pressed deep inside him. “Here?”

Sherlock wheezed in arousal and followed John’s mouth for more kisses, “There too,” he said throatily with amusement, stroking down to John’s scrotum briefly before he pulled his hand away and reached around to crawl his fingers between John’s buttocks meaningfully. “Here. I want to touch…Do you like it?”

John shrugged briefly and straightened up to look down at Sherlock, breathing heavily and frowning, “A little…I mean…I’ve…done stuff there,” he admitted and then looked around, reaching for the lubricant bottle. “Give me your hand. Your right one.”

Holding out his hand Sherlock blinked quickly to focus as John coated both their fingers copiously and smirked before he slipped out of Sherlock, dragged him up to his knees so they were facing each other, and pulled him close. Sherlock swayed forward and leaned against him warmly, following John’s silent order and reaching around to slip his long fingers between John’s buttocks with a slow explorative touch. John curled his right arm around Sherlock’s waist to steady him, and then pushed the slicked fingers of his left hand to Sherlock’s flexing backside, breathing against Sherlock’s shoulder. They touched each other silently, Sherlock mimicking and copying the way John’s fingers caressed and stroked and breached, and slowly began to rock against one another affectionately, both of their erections nudging into stomach and hip. It was oddly and heart wrenchingly loving, something John hadn’t felt with someone else for a long time, and he basked in the mixing glow of affection and lust.

“This is nice,” John murmured a few seconds into it, his eyelids fluttering when Sherlock’s fingers examined further, pressing deep, “Awkward but nice…why do you have to be so tall and lanky?”

“I’m not lanky,” Sherlock replied in a relaxed rumble, bending his head down to rub his curls into John’s face. “Why do you have to be so short?”

John rolled his eyes and then pressed his mouth and nose into Sherlock’s collarbone, “See if you can find my prostate while you’re at it. You have two tries, and then I’m going to throw you back down and take you.”

“If I don’t find it?” Sherlock asked in enjoyment.

“Whether you find it or not,” John responded, smiling arrogantly and pulling his head back to look into Sherlock’s flushed face, “but I bet you can’t find it. Not straight away.”

Sherlock arched an eyebrow at the clear dare and shifted enough to drop his forehead to John’s, “You think I don’t know where it is?”

“Find it then,” John laughed, squeezing Sherlock’s waist with his right arm.

“I know where it is,” Sherlock told him as he carefully and slowly pressed a finger deeper into John and twisted it around, searching. “The prostate surrounds the urethra just below the bladder.”

Nodding faintly with a hitched breath, John stroked the skin of Sherlock’s hip and skimmed the pad of his own middle finger over Sherlock’s prostate proficiently to make him jump, “You say such sexy things,” John intoned and altered the tilt of his hips as Sherlock explored, “…Come on then.”

Sherlock swallowed thickly with a shuddering few gasps, squirming when John lightly wriggled his fingers deeply into Sherlock’s body, “Stop trying to put me off.”

John grinned into Sherlock’s shoulder but then twitched when Sherlock curled his finger, “Ah! Yeah. Yeah, okay, fine. Fine. You found it. Of course you did. You always have to show me up, don’t you? Always flaunting how clever you are and—Sherlock! Sherlock, stop a second!” John moaned with a gasp, scrabbling at Sherlock’s waist and thrusting sharply forward at the soft rubbing of Sherlock’s finger. “Carefully, for goodness sake! Sherlock…Sherlock if you keep doing that I’m going to…to do something embarrassing.”

“And what’s that?” Sherlock murmured, completely absorbed in his task until John bit down on Sherlock’s throat and pressed him onto his back, removing Sherlock’s fingers quickly but gently. John pinned Sherlock to the bed with both hands and tried to control his breathing, aware that his penis was hotly throbbing and coating the inside of the condom wetly with pre-ejaculate. “John! John, let me just do it once more…I’m fascinated by—”

John kissed him to shut him up, “Later,” he promised against Sherlock’s lips, “but not so rough or so… enthusiastically. ”

“Too much?” Sherlock whispered, leaning up when John kissed him again and then very lightly caressing the side of John’s face. “You liked it though.”

“Yeah,” John breathed with a blush, clearing his throat and looking into Sherlock’s face with a faint grimace, “I liked it a little too much…so…um, unless you want me to…to, you know, prematurely...end our fun—”

““End our fun?” Oh my God, just say the word. You can say the word. You’re a bloody doctor, John,” Sherlock complained with an amused frown, stroking down to John’s scarred shoulder. “But fine. Don’t touch too much unless I want you to ejaculate everywhere. Duly noted.”

John laughed, pulling Sherlock close and rubbing up against him languidly as he settled down on Sherlock’s body and kissed his cheek, composing himself. Sherlock’s scent was richer and muskier with his heightened arousal and scorching flush, and John inhaled deeply through his nose, pushing his mouth behind Sherlock’s ear to sample the smell at his hairline. “How do you smell this good? You’re a sweaty mess and you still just smell so…so great. How is that possible?” 

“You’re smelling my hair,” Sherlock pointed out, stroking up and down John’s bowed back with his fingertips and nails, drawing elaborate patterns and symbols and equations as he went, “which means you’re not just smelling my sweat, but my shampoo and conditioner – I’m positive it’s not all that pleasant under my arms.”

John snorted and tugged on Sherlock’s earlobe with his teeth, “Yeah? Your hairless underarms?—” 

“Stop bullying me,” Sherlock giggled outright, and turned and angled his head to see John better. He gazed at John silently for a few seconds, looking between John’s eyes and mouth, and then pushed at John’s stomach to shove him away, even using his feet on John’s shoulders when he didn’t move. “John…John, I want you to…take it off, please.”

“Take it off?” John shifted up and back with a frown, tremendously confused with the sudden change of topic. “What?”

Sherlock swallowed and lifted his head, pushing up on his elbows and motioning to John’s erection irritably, “The condom. Take it off...”

“The condom. Take the condom off?—No. Sherlock, that is…” John tried seriously, clearing his throat and cupping himself, embarrassed at the way his penis throbbed at the very thought, still as flushed and rigid as before, having not dwindled one bit. “God, our conversations. Were we always so…strange? Is this normal? I don’t remember having such honest and…funny and…awkward conversations during sex before now! – Sherlock, what you’re asking, it’s…that’s…risky and…well, it’s…”

“Dangerous?” Sherlock scoffed and shook his head, sitting up a little to look into John’s face earnestly. “No it’s not. I’m clean. You know I am. And so are you – I won’t be going off doing this with anyone else, John. It’s just you. It’s…always been just you. Always.”

John blushed, stupidly shy and overcome in an instant, “I…but…I really don’t think we should. As a doctor I…I…I just—Why do you want to anyway? If I…well, if we carry on until the end and you want me to…to…you know, you’ll be…it’ll just be…messy.” John grimaced at his words and shifted self-consciously. “This is ridiculous…”

“I want to. Please?” Sherlock whispered, and looked demurely through his lashes at John with a diffident smile. He was naked, shimmering with sweat and lubricant, brightly flushed, and looked almost painfully aroused, and John exhaled unevenly, knowing he’d never be able to forget the sight.


	2. Kittie's bit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I know! I'm sorry! I took too long but now it's done.
> 
> Beta'd by SherlockHolmesConsultingVampire

“I want to. Please?” Sherlock whispered, looking demurely through his lashes at John with a diffident smile. He was naked, shimmering with sweat and lubricant, brightly flushed, and looked almost painfully aroused, and John exhaled unevenly, knowing he’d never be able to forget the sight.

“Sherlock,” John whispered, knowing he had already lost the fight. He lowered his hand slowly, holding his prick for a second as he looked down at Sherlock nervously. His cock gave a throb of excited impatience as John let his head fall back with a sigh whilst his hand stripped his cock of the condom and threw it aside. The abandoned rubber fell amongst the various garments of clothing on the floor and John made a mental note to dispose of it properly before Sherlock managed to find it and experiment on it.

“I'm waiting,” Sherlock grumbled, his hand moving slowly on his prick to keep it erect as he watched John have a small crisis at the thought of having unprotected sex for the first time. He rolled his eyes and fell back to the bed as his other hand slipped to his behind and began gently fingering himself.

“Yeah – Yeah I'm… Right,” John nodded as he walked on his knees closer to Sherlock. The space between them seemed endless and John reached out to touch Sherlock softly before clearing his throat and gaining his confidence once more. “Get up.”

Sherlock narrowed his eyes, suspicious at John's motives. “Why?”

“Because I told you to,” John replied, his hand slapping Sherlock's away from his genitals. “I want you to...er... ride me.”

“Oh,” Sherlock hummed, the blush deepening on his face and chest which became mottled as it flushed across pale skin. “Oh that’s… yes. That. Let's do that.”

John lay with his head on the pillow, smelling the aroma of Sherlock's hair and sweat on the fabric as he ran his hands across his cock, grasping for the lube and smearing it over himself. He forbid his mind to think of the various issues which could arise from unprotected anal sex, and instead focussed on the positive side: the hot hot heat of Sherlock's body wrapped around his cock, the sensation of being close to somebody whom he adored. John cleared his throat and put his weaker arm behind his head as he gestured for Sherlock to climb on.

The detective hesitated momentarily before flinging his leg across John's midsection and inhaling deeply as he felt the heated flesh between his thighs. This sensation was new and extremely exciting, worthy of storing away in the secret room adjacent to John's in his mind palace. This secret room was lit with red bulbs, everything was crushed velvet and leather and John's overheard orgasmic cries repeated again and again.

With a deep exhale, Sherlock reached under himself and grasped John's cock, holding it upright to allow himself the opportunity to slip him inside his body. He groaned at the first inch slipping inside, the unfamiliar heat of John's cock pressing inside him was almost completely overwhelming, especially combined with the soft gasp and coo which escaped John's lips as his prick was engulfed in wet heat. Sherlock stilled, allowing himself the opportunity to enjoy the first feelings before he slowly worked himself down John's prick, deeper and deeper until his buttocks were pressed against the thick thatch of John's pubic hair. Sherlock closed his eyes, biting his lip as he catalogued every sensation for future exploration.

“Christ,” John spluttered, his other free hand moving to rest across the curve of Sherlock's hipbone. “God this is… fuck… this…” John quieted, his thumb stroking across Sherlock's skin. “Are you alright?”

“Mmm,” Sherlock nodded in the way which John had recognised as Sherlock's  _ Im-currently-in-my-mind-palace-so-do-not-disturb  _ voice.

“Get out of the mind palace!” John said irritably. “If you're cataloguing dust again, I swear to god I'm leaving and going for a wank.”

Sherlock's glassy eyes snapped open as he looked at John; he had only caught the last part of the conversation. “You're going for a wank? Why? Is it not good? Did I not do it right?” he fretted, frowning. “I can't have messed up something so simple… It was just… sitting down – granted it's almost like sitting on a pole but still...”

“You checked out on me,” John replied, smiling at Sherlock's childlike questioning. “I worried you’d got bored.”

“How could I get bored?” Sherlock scoffed. “Honestly John. Sometimes I wonder if you even know me at all.”

“Sherlock, I'm pretty sure I know you. I have my cock in your arse,” John laughed, his trembling belly pressing against Sherlock's cock and causing a lovely amount of friction.

“You don't always know the people you have sex with. There was the one night stand when you went to that dreadful club with Graham. You picked her up and brought her home,” Sherlock sneered. “She was ghastly. I'm fairly sure she was part howler monkey going by the sounds she made.”

“Can we not --” John groaned as Sherlock tightened his internal muscles around him, “ – talk about my previous conquests when I'm halfway through your digestive tract?”

“Pfft,” Sherlock scoffed again. “You're rather full of yourself. Halfway?”

“Shut up,” John grumbled, giving a small upward thrust and watching as Sherlock's face relaxed at the pleasant thrill rushing through him.

Sherlock quieted his comments and leaned forward, bracing his hands on John's chest. He gave a few tentative movements before lifting his hips up and bringing them back down slowly with a glorious rumble. John watched as Sherlock's head fell forward, his hair obscuring his face as he ground his hips in a circle before beginning a rhythm of shallow thrusts which forced a grunt from him with every brush against his prostate.

John couldn't believe how hot Sherlock felt inside; the twitching and greedy hole sucking more of John inside Sherlock was almost too much to handle as John slammed his eyes closed and breathed heavily, attempting valiantly to hold onto his building orgasm. Sherlock leaned back slightly, the new angle allowing his prostate to be touched again and again as he rocked, moaning wantonly with each movement. John reached his arms out, holding Sherlock's hips and guiding him gently before inching his dominant hand to Sherlock's cock only to be slapped away.

“What?” John asked, blinking and frowning. “Not nice?”

“Too nice,” Sherlock growled, the colour blooming across his cheeks and the tips of his ears as he circled his hips and let his head fall forward. “I don't… It's too soon.”

John groaned, biting his bottom lip roughly. “We might not have – oh god – a choice. This… This is...” he breathed harshly through his nose, bucking his hips further into Sherlock's body and tightening his hold on Sherlock's hips. “I don't know how much longer I'll last.”

“I thought...” Sherlock trailed off, seemingly lost in the physical sensations of his cock now slapping against John's belly as he repositioned his legs to allow better bouncing thrusts onto John's prick, “I thought you were some sort of… love god.”

John chuckled and shook his head. He couldn't think of a pithy comeback and instead decided to show off his moves. He snaked an arm around Sherlock's hips and threw him down in a wrestling move, his cock still buried deep inside Sherlock's body.

“Oh,” Sherlock breathed, his eyelids fluttering with shock and pleasure.

John looked down at Sherlock, the detective was sweating so much that the bedding beneath them was soaked. His black curls fell in ringlets across Sherlock's forehead and down his hairline, dripping with beads of moisture which fell from the hair to join the sheen across Sherlock's skin. John lifted Sherlock's thighs, his hands resting above the crease in his knee, pushing him up until he was almost bent in two before slamming into Sherlock roughly, hard and fast and frantic as he gave a few deep thrusts before pulling almost entirely out and giving smaller, shallow rolls of his hips.

“John,” Sherlock groaned, his hands scrabbling for the covers whilst his heels hit against John's shoulder blades.

The older man leaned down, harshly biting Sherlock's lips for a moment before kissing him messily and without finesse. The two men shared breaths and carelessly licked at one another's mouths as John's hips pistoned in and out of Sherlock's hole, pounding against Sherlock's prostate again and again and causing small spurts of precome to jet across Sherlock's stomach to create a sticky puddle beneath the tip of his prick.

“John… John… John-- I… John… I… JOHN!” Sherlock practically screamed, throwing his head back and allowing his friend to suck at the protruding bulge of his adam's apple. The detective stilled, almost completely frozen with bliss as his orgasm ripped through him, hard and devastating and completely untouched. John could only pull away, his thrusting hips still coaxing Sherlock through his orgasm as Sherlock shuddered and bunched, ribbons of milky ejaculate covering slick skin in long, hard pulses which left Sherlock feeling wrung out, empty and completely drained.

John could only give a few shaky final thrusts until his cock throbbed hotly and began to erupt inside of Sherlock's body, coating his insides with hot, wet strands which threatened to drip out around John's cock. John shivered and fell forward, letting Sherlock's legs fall to the bed abruptly as John pressed a trail of kisses across Sherlock's lips and cheeks before resting his head beside Sherlock's.

“I still refuse to call you a love god,” Sherlock muttered, following his comment with a deep rumble of laughter.

“Twat,” John laughed in reply. He lifted his head from Sherlock's side and looked down at the mess across Sherlock's stomach. John tentatively twisted his body until his cock slipped free from Sherlock with a rush of semen which spilled, still warm, across the inside of Sherlock's buttocks. John ran his tongue from pectoral to navel, tasting the salty and musky come on Sherlock's belly which he swallowed with a slight grimace. “I always wondered...” he shrugged. “I now understand why lots of women don't swallow.”

“Are you suggesting that my semen is somehow deficient?” Sherlock asked, his fingers stroking idly at his frizzed curls.

“Nope. Just bloody horrible,” John laughed, throwing himself onto his back beside Sherlock on the bed.

Sherlock chuckled before giving a jaw cracking yawn, “I should shower.”

“Me too,” John admitted although made no moves to actually get up.

“And go back into your own bed.”

“Probably,” John shrugged.

Neither man complained as they fell asleep, sex tired and drained, curled up around one another in a sticky heap.

 

* * *

John strutted down the high street; he was feeling happy with himself after bagging the number of a hot blonde standing behind him in the local Tesco. Thankfully, he wasn't buying anything weird (You try flirting with someone when you have a 3 bottles of pig's blood, a selection of babies nappies and half a cabbage) and they had quickly struck up a conversation resulting in John taking the woman's number and promising to call later that evening.

The high street was pleasantly empty as he walked, lost in his own mind. The encounter which had happened between him and Sherlock on Valentine’s day had been put in the back of his subconscious; Sherlock had still been asleep when John left for work, and Sherlock had been on a case for the last three days and barely home which helped a lot. John wasn't sure why he was having such a complete crisis about their shared intimacy or how it had made him feel, but he was glad to know that the world hadn't stopped turning due to that one monumental decision that they had taken.

John ran his finger over his phone and bit his lip. The woman wasn't really his type but deep down, John needed to feel that nothing had changed in his ability to pull women. He was glad that nobody else had perception skills like Sherlock or Mycroft, otherwise his feelings for his best friend may as well have been a neon flashing sign above his head. His conscience tugged at him slightly at the thought that he was using this woman (Not just this woman, her name was Emily) for his own reassurance in his masculinity and pulling skills. Maybe he would take her out for dinner… perhaps even take her back home and fuc – no. No he couldn't do that. Wouldn't do that.

But John wasn't even sure what was going on with him and Sherlock. The few glimpses he had spotted of the detective in between shifts at the clinic hadn't given him any signs that anything had changed. Sherlock still muttered to himself whilst pinning things to the wall and John still made him tea before he left but now there was this underlying knowledge that he had seen Sherlock's come face...had tasted Sherlock's ejaculate and enjoyed it despite his once constant declarations of 'I'm not gay'.

John rubbed at his face as he reached Baker Street. He opened the door and gave a shout to Mrs Hudson to ensure she wasn't startled by another presence as he walked up the stairs where Sherlock sat in his chair, his fingers steepled under his chin.

“Two tonsillitis, one gallstones and a woman convinced she had a tropical disease because of something she saw on Loose Women,” Sherlock mumbled as he looked over at John briefly, his eyes fixing on John's hand in his pocket and stilling for a second before Sherlock gave a haughty sniff and moved his hands to his lap.

“Right as always,” John smiled, shrugging off his jacket and placing it on the hook before walking to the kitchen to flick on the kettle. “How was the case?”

“Dull. Tedious. I only accepted it because Lestrade was so desperately lost. It was simple really, not a locked room murder at all,” Sherlock sighed. “Precious few of those these days.”

“Shame,” John laughed, taking two cups down and beginning the ritual of pouring tea. “Have you eaten?”

“Not hungry… So, are you planning on calling her then?” Sherlock responded, sitting forward in his chair and looked over at John intensely.

“Who?” John mumbled, stirring the cups.

“The blonde haired, big chested woman you met in the supermarket. She gave you her number,” Sherlock sighed. “I dislike it when you act like you're surprised by my deductions. I don't expect any exclusivity between us. Just because you ejaculated into me doesn't make us promised to one another.” He rolled his eyes dramatically and slumped back in his seat.

“Oh,” John said stupidly as he turned with the mugs, walking to his chair and then handing Sherlock his cup. Their hands brushed briefly and for a second, John remembered the feeling of Sherlock's hands roaming his body. He cleared his throat and sat down, crossing his legs as Sherlock stared across at him, sipping at the too hot drink. “Er… Might do.”

Sherlock shrugged casually, “Perhaps you should teach Mycroft how to attract a mate.”

“Mycroft?” John frowned deeply. “What does your brother have to do with anything?”

“He visited,” Sherlock winced, pulling his cup back and sucking his bottom lip in a way which should not have been seductive, yet made John's lower stomach throb hotly.

“Today?” John asked.

“No. Whatever day it was after we had intercourse.” Sherlock waved his hand randomly. “He was here when I woke up. Which was annoying.”

John gaped, knowing that Mycroft obviously knew about their… encounter. “Wh-What did he want?”

“Something tedious. It appears that he forgot immediately upon entering since all he wanted to discuss was my current sex life. Sorry. Our current sex life,” Sherlock sighed dramatically. “I probably didn't help matters.”

“Oh god. Why? You didn't tell him anything horrible did you? Oh… or act out the face I make when I come?” John put his cup down in order to cover his face. “I'm going to end up in prison aren't I? Some dreadful forgotten hellhole for traitors to the realm and I'll be sentenced for defiling his baby brother.”

“What on earth are you talking about?” Sherlock frowned, huffing a laugh and crossing his legs. “I didn't realise he was here at first - for such a large creature of a man, he can be surprisingly stealthy – although it appears I was in a sex induced coma so he may have had a brass band with him and I wouldn't have noticed. I came out in my sheet.”

John winced; he had seen the large, purple red bruises along Sherlock's neck which left absolutely nothing to the imagination. He had already had to field phone calls and texts from Lestrade asking whether or not he could release the 'Sherlock and John shagging' pool.

“Go on,” John groaned.

“He quizzed me about the bruises of course. I told him to piss off and refused to answer his questions. I even turned my back in the chair so he couldn't speak to me but then that showed off the lines on my back from your nails.” Sherlock sighed, twirling his finger around on the leather of his chair. “And he started to talk about...well – things.”

“What type of things?” John coaxed, he could see Sherlock becoming more unwilling to discuss the topic but needed to know what else had happened.

“He reminded me that you were straight, as you had said so many times before. He told me that you would eventually find a nice, safe woman to settle down with and I would be left here with the memories of that night and any further nights, ” Sherlock hesitated, “and that this sort of thing affects people's friendships… he reminded me that you're my only friend. He loves to remind me of that. Not that he has any friends except Mr Timpson the Diogenes baker.”

“Sherlock,” John sighed, rubbing his face tiredly, realising that he would need to have this conversation eventually. “I won't let it affect our friendship. It's just a er… added perk. I mean… that's all it was for you too right? A way to let off steam?”

Sherlock remained silent, obviously thinking the question through before he gave a shrug. “I didn't think about it. It just...happened.”

“Exactly and it might happen again… or it might not but either way, it's not going to affect us. You said so yourself,” John smiled.

“Hmm. So, are you going to call her?” Sherlock asked, bouncing onto the next topic flawlessly.

“Maybe… Possibly...” John admitted with a casual shrug.

“Fine,” Sherlock smiled softly. “I think I'll go for a shower.”

* * *

John walked from one side of the kitchen to the other, his phone in his hand with his finger hovering over Emily's number. He had never felt hesitation like this before when he had met a woman and he wondered if it had anything to do with the lanky detective currently humming to himself under the shower spray. John pushed those thoughts aside and pressed the button, holding his phone to his ear as it began to ring and a friendly female voice answered.

“Hi Emily, it's er… John. We met earlier? At Tesco,” John explained, feeling out of sorts.

“Hi John! Nice to hear from you,” the woman replied.

“Yeah, yeah same… so… I was wondering if -- ”

“John? Do we have any sudocrem? My anus is rather sore.” Sherlock's booming voice echoed around the flat causing John's conversation to stutter and there to be an awkward silence on the phone.

“Who is that?” Emily asked, a giggle escaping her lips at Sherlock's words.

“My flatmate,” John sighed, taking a few steps away from the bathroom to limit Sherlock's ability to be heard. “So … Would you like to...”

“I hope you haven't given me thrush!” Sherlock shouted, loud enough that John was sure the doors rattled in their jambs. “Can you get thrush in your anus? You're the doctor, you should know this. OH! Could you help me get some swabs? It would be interesting to look at under the microscope.”

John let his head rest on the fridge door as he inhaled and exhaled deeply, hearing the bathroom door creak open and Sherlock walk through. “I also have some toilet issues. Are you sure you didn't perforate my bowel?”

“Sherlock! I'm on the phone,” John hissed, knowing that Sherlock knew full well that he was mid conversation.

“Oh, forgive me John! I assumed that you would deem the needs of your flatmate above those of a stranger! Especially considering that you are the reason that my rectum is itching! But that's fine, you continue your conversation,” Sherlock sighed, throwing himself dramatically onto the sofa in a whoosh of coloured fabric.

“I'll er… just go shall I?” John asked.

“Probably for the best,” Emily said harshly. “Probably also for the best if you lose my number.”

“Will do,” John sighed, rubbing his face and then hanging up. He turned to Sherlock, fists clenched by his sides. “Satisfied?”

“Immensely,” Sherlock grinned, his eyes closed. “Oh, just for your peace of mind. My bowels and rectum are fine.”

* * *

John padded into the kitchen and scratched his belly as he looked into the fridge for milk for his tea. The fridge had been suspiciously free of experiments and Sherlock had been locked away in his room for a few days, leaving John feeling slightly lonely and over exposed, like he had too much time to sit and think about the amazing night they had spent together. He poured himself a drink and settled down on the sofa, clicking on the television and relaxing into the dreary morning programming.

“I’m going out!” A voice from behind him called, startling John into turning back to face Sherlock in confusion.

“I thought you were already out… why were you hiding in your room?” John frowned.

“I wasn’t hiding,” Sherlock scoffed. “I was… finishing a project. Are you at work today?”

“Yeah, two until six,” John groaned, resting his chin in his hand. “Why? Fancy doing something?”

“I… I was going to cook,” Sherlock grimaced. “I mean… it’s only chemistry after all.”

“Oh,” John stammered. “That would be nice. Thank you.”

Sherlock gave a wordless nod before turning to leave. He turned back, walked a few paces to John’s side and gave a sloppy and almost fleeting kiss against the rough skin of John’s cheek before rushing down the stairs with so much noise that it sounded like a herd of wildebeest.

* * *

The day’s shift was uneventful and soon John found himself walking the short distance from the tube back home. He was excited to see what Sherlock had planned for their night and had to admit that he was probably walking faster than he technically needed to do in order to get home. He unlocked the door and followed the alluring scent of food up the stairs, toeing off his shoes and hanging up his coat.

“Sherlock? Something smells nice,” John smiled, walking through the door and blinking rapidly.

Sherlock was standing by the oven, a colourful apron wrapped around his waist as he ladled food onto plates with a smile. The table was set, complete with tablecloth and a candle which had obviously been stolen from Mrs Hudson but beside John’s intended plate was a large, paper mache brain.

“There’s a brain,” John pointed stupidly.

“It’s not a real one,” Sherlock replied, a slight tinge of colour to his cheeks which may have been from the steaming heat of the oven.

“I see that,” John smiled, “I don’t understand though?”

“I’ll explain. Sit down,” Sherlock insisted, handing John his plate and then bringing his own to the table to sit opposite the doctor. John took a bite of the hearty food in front of him and groaned in delight, the flavours were delicious and almost familiar…

“This is from Angelo's,” John smirked. “You passed it off as your own.”

Sherlock blinked, narrowing his eyes and then shrugging. “I tried to cook downstairs with Mrs Hudson but she shouted at me.”

“What did you do?” John asked.

“I was… well… I built the Eiffel tower from mince beef,” Sherlock shrugged, bending down to take a bite of his own food, “and then I exploded the hob... a bit.”

John laughed, large belly laughs which caused his face to crinkle perfectly in mirth. “How?”

“I have no idea! I was just standing nearby and then there was fire! I’m having to buy her a new oven now. She’s not speaking to me,” Sherlock sulked, rolling his shoulders. “You ruined the special meal. You were supposed to believe I made it.”

John smiled, eating a little before turning his attention to the brain. “So, this?”

“Ah,” Sherlock nodded, turning to lift the glass jar which John had given him for Valentine’s day from its place on the other chair. “I was thinking, this was such a thoughtful and well thought out gift.”

“Go on…” John grimaced, wondering what adventure was coming next.

“I think it explained a lot… I think...” Sherlock swallowed past the lump in his throat, “that maybe you have feelings for me?”

“Sherlock…” John trailed off, unable to make words appear regardless of his intentions to finish the sentence.

“No, no it’s okay because… look,” Sherlock extended his arm and flicked a switch which caused John’s eyes to bulge slightly.

From the brain came a flickering dance of fairylights, a soft white glow moved from one side of the brain to the other before flashing rapidly and moving back the opposite way. John watched entranced as each flickering bulb took up space in the various quadrants of the crafted brain.

“I… I realised how I feel about you too,” Sherlock admitted with a short, sharp cough. “You… You’re in my brain. You’re a vital part of my thought process. Everything I do, whether it’s at a crime scene or at home has you in it. I think about you constantly and this… this is what the brain represents.”

“Sherlock… I…” John started, looking up and meeting Sherlock’s eyes which reflected the faint light.

“I know, I understand that you probably don’t think of me that way. I understand if that night was only a one off but… that’s in my head too. I can’t delete it because if I did… I would be deleting a part of you. Something I might never see again.” He watched the lights dance against the thin film of paper, whispering distractedly, “You’re in my head.”

John took a deep, steadying breath before throwing himself across the table, almost upending it as he grabbed Sherlock’s collar and gave in to the desperate lust which had built whilst Sherlock had been talking. His heart hammered, his vision was blurred with unshed tears as he ran his fingers roughly through the curls on Sherlock’s head, tilting his head back and forcing Sherlock to look at him. “You’re in my head too,” he whispered, blinking back the tears as he chastely kissed Sherlock on his forehead and then down to his nose and across his cheeks, straddling Sherlock in his chair and finding that he didn’t give a damn about anything else in the world except the feeling of Sherlock in his arms.

“John?” Sherlock asked timidly, his voice breaking with nerves. “Will you… take me to bed?”

The reaction was swift and immediate as John held Sherlock around the waist and pulled him up, and through to Sherlock’s bedroom. John spent a long moment just staring at Sherlock, watching the detective’s cheeks begin to colour and blush before John finally moved, stroking a hand through tawny curls before beginning to unbutton Sherlock’s silk shirt, sliding it from his strong shoulder and onto the floor without a care at how much money was being creased. Sherlock smiled, nuzzling at John’s jaw as he helped John to strip off his own jumper and shirt before scenting him beneath his ear where the scent of him was strongest.

“I’ve been working… I haven’t showered,” John coughed self-consciously, pulling away slightly only to be pulled back into Sherlock’s vice like grip.

“Good,” the detective said as he gave another deep sniff. “You smell like you, I want you to smell like you, not a chemically enhanced grapefruit or whatever you use.”

“You’re the chemically enhanced one,” John cheeked before starting on Sherlock’s flies and letting his trousers fall to the floor. Sherlock blushed prettily, biting his lower lip as John looked him up and down with a look of adoration and utter hunger. “Get on the bed.”

Sherlock nervously cupped his prominent bulge over his underwear and laid flat on the bed, his hair creating a dark halo around his head as he looked up at John expectantly. “Well?” he asked haughtily. “Are you not joining me?”

“Arse,” John laughed, shimmying out of his work trousers and climbing between Sherlock’s legs to slither up and kiss him gently. Sherlock accepted the kiss, deepening it almost immediately as his tongue flicked into John’s mouth. They kissed like this for long moments which stretched on, punctuated only by the deep gasping breaths which they needed to take to continue living. John moved his weaker hand up to clasp Sherlock’s own, entwining their fingers tightly and squeezing lovingly as he kissed along Sherlock’s neck and throat, across collarbones until he reached Sherlock’s wrist, lifted almost to chin height and upturned so that John could see the blue veins which thudded until paper thin skin.

John swiped his tongue across the pulse point, feeling Sherlock’s fingers tighten slightly before he huffed a tickled laugh. John did it again, kissing along the long, pale forearms and then back to Sherlock’s heaving torso and the rust coloured nipples which had puckered tightly and stood proud. John licked and sucked, wrapping his mouth around the nubs and listening to Sherlock moan and whimper, his hands clenching and his stomach fluttering as John ran his dominant hand across the thin stomach and down to the nest of dark hairs.

“Okay?” John asked, his eyes meeting Sherlock’s.

Sherlock nodded and allowed John to pull down his black boxer shorts until Sherlock lay naked beneath him, his boiling hot cock pressed into John’s stomach as they wiggled to free John from the confines of his underwear. They rutted against one another, slick precum making the friction unbearably good and causing the men to gasp and pant against one another's lips.

John wrapped his hand around both of their cocks, stroking and tugging on the silky skin of their pricks. Watching in awe as Sherlock’s eyes closed and his head fell back on the pillows, baring the long white throat to John’s lips; the doctor sucked purple marks into the skin over the now healed bruises from their previous session, re-marking Sherlock as his own.

Sherlock was close to climax already, feeling the unstoppable rise of his orgasm building and building; Sherlock gripped John’s hand and stopped the movement, counting to ten in his mind to calm himself, John allowed himself to be stilled and kissed Sherlock instead, soft and caring kisses unlike the night of Valentine’s day when it was a frenzied, passionate embrace.

John waited until Sherlock had calmed, moving his hand away from the shaft and putting them instead on Sherlock’s bony hips. John kissed down the slim figure of Sherlock’s chest and stomach; flicking his tongue in the navel and down to the crease of his hipbone making Sherlock gasp back a dry chuckle. John ignored the swollen and throbbing cock, focussing on Sherlock’s thighs and the back of the man’s sensitive knees, placing open mouthed kisses on the skin before moving back up and pulling Sherlock’s legs wider apart so he could fit in between, grabbing for the lube on the nightstand.

“ _ Yes John,”  _ Sherlock sighed anxiously, his thighs already beginning to tremble in nervous arousal.

John uncapped the lid of the lubricant and slicked his fingers; pressing them close to Sherlock’s entrance, he slowly and gently breached the ring of muscle, his finger penetrating up to the first knuckle, listening to Sherlock’s hiss of need and lust. John pressed and twirled the finger carefully, ensuring he gave the sweet spot a tender stroke before removing one and pressing two fingers inside. Sherlock was tight; delightfully tight around John’s finger and the older man rubbed Sherlock’s cock with his other hand to relax him, feeling the younger man’s muscles relax and allow him to move more freely. His fingers found the same spot and circled it gently watching Sherlock’s face as the pleasurable sensations washed over his body, his mouth open and his eyes closed as he soaked in every sensation and tingle.

John continued until Sherlock was loose enough for three fingers; John inserted the third and felt Sherlock tighten again, a grimace crossing his perfect features for a moment as he bore down against John’s fingers, allowing them to penetrate him fully. Sherlock sighed in bliss as he was stretched, the burn so perfect against the almost overpowering pleasure which John’s fingers gave. Sherlock’s own fingers gripped at the bedding tightly, his chest heaving with each breath as John opened him wide.

“John… Need – _ ah –  _ need you please,” Sherlock mumbled, his teeth worrying his lower lip.

John groaned and removed his fingers slowly from inside Sherlock, grabbing his own cock and giving it a few tugging strokes before opening the lube again and slicking up his shaft, rubbing the excess onto Sherlock’s hole before placing his blunt tip at the entrance. Sherlock reached down for John’s hand who tightly entwined his fingers into Sherlock’s, their hands resting at Sherlock’s side whilst his other hand pressed himself slowly into the detective. Sherlock gasped and tightened around John who soothed and whispered encouragingly to Sherlock. They stayed still for a moment allowing Sherlock to get used to the full sensation. John watched Sherlock’s expression and finally the younger man nodded and rolled his hips, allowing John to slip further inside with a deep groan.

John took his other hand and wrapped it in Sherlock’s, pulling both their hands above Sherlock’s head as they kissed passionately, Sherlock cocooned completely in John’s embrace. Perfectly happy to die in that blissful moment, full of John’s cock and tongue whilst the older man covered the flawed ex junkie’s body. His hips rolled to meet John’s shallow movements and they groaned together, tongues rubbing against tongues, fingers pressed against fingers, skin against skin.

The feelings were almost too much; Sherlock could feel the pleasure pooling in his lower stomach and up his spine, the grinding of John’s cock against his prostate was making his cock leak between their bodies, pressing his shaft against John’s stomach as they moved together. Sherlock knew he wouldn’t last much longer but he didn’t want the sensations to end, he was wrapped up in John Watson and wanted to stay like this for eternity.

Eventually he was at the peak of his pleasure, holding on by a thread, and he pulled his lips from John’s and warned him of the impending orgasm, his teeth biting lightly at John’s earlobe and dragging a throaty moan from John’s lips, then that was it. Bliss washed over his body and sparks erupted behind his eyes as his climax erupted and his cock twitched and painted their stomachs with long ropes of white warmth. Loud moans and whimpers escaped Sherlock’s pink, kiss swollen lips as his orgasm continued, cum coating the men before Sherlock was able to open his eyes and watch John’s own orgasm wash over him with a deep groan.

Sherlock felt the warmth spread through his insides as John erupted inside him and painted his insides with white, the contractions of Sherlock’s arse milking every drop from John. John lowered his head and plastered Sherlock’s face with butterfly kisses as they caught their breath, whispering sweet soothing words of love to Sherlock as the afterglow passed. Sherlock was still dazed from his massive orgasm and winced slightly when John pulled out of his used hole, feeling the dripping cum escape his stretched arse. John flopped onto the bed beside Sherlock and pulled the younger man onto his chest; John rested his head on Sherlock’s curls and stroked his spine softly with delicate touches, watching Sherlock judder and shake.

“Are you cold?” John asked worried, pulling the blanket from the bottom of the bed to wrap around Sherlock before placing a soft kiss on his head.

Sherlock shook his head quickly; he wasn’t sure if he could feel anything anymore but he was pretty sure he wasn’t cold.

Sherlock felt safe and secure in John’s arms, cocooned in his love and protection whilst John felt needed and alive. Both men were falling asleep when there was a beep from the mobile still in Sherlock’s trouser pocket. John groaned but twisted his body to grab for the phone and hand it over to Sherlock who chuckled, dark and velvet as he handed the device to his friend beside him.

**Finally. - Mrs H**

**Although I didn’t need to hear that… at my age, boys. Honestly! - Mrs H**

Sherlock fired a text back and then snuggled back down in John’s arms.

“What did you reply?” John asked curious.

“That I’ll buy her some earplugs with her new oven,” Sherlock smirked, dissolving into giggles and kissing John’s chest.

**Author's Note:**

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